Tears popped, unwelcome, once again into Ariana’s eyes. Mr. Mornay did not want her. He had seen her level of devotion to Christ and wanted no part of it. She felt wretched. “Are you certain that is what you want?” she asked.
“What I want? By no means!”
“Oh!” She fell back into his arms, greatly relieved. “Nor do I.” She looked up at him and he gave her an earnest kiss.
“But I cannot make a profession of the faith you require.”
“Perhaps not today,” she admitted, soberly. “But I believe that God has a call on your life, Phillip Mornay. And you must not think you can escape Him—or me—that easily!”
He held her close and spoke quietly into her ear, “I have no wish to escape either of you.”
Thirty
Mrs. Bentley, to her credit, reflected upon the conversation she had had with Ariana, and fetched her little prayer book from the drawer where it stayed all week until it was needed for church on Sundays. She liked the book. It was small, a bit fat, but still could fit in a good size reticule. And the pages had a nice feel to them. She gazed at the worn cover with a stirring of old affection: The Book of Common Prayer. She had often discovered her niece absorbed in its pages, and she resolved to do her best to make it a part of her daily habits as well. It could surely do her no harm.
It was a small comfort, after all, to be able to do something to further one’s religion. She read a morning collect at once, in the little sitting room that adjoined her chamber. After the reading, she said a small prayer. Normally she prayed only in church or at dire moments. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually followed the readings at home. It hadn’t taken long, and praying did feel nice. She would do it more often.
Afterward, like a woman who had been dreaming, she suddenly recalled she had been given the charge of seeing to a wedding! She had abundant work to do! The fact that Ariana had still not formally consented to the match did not deter her. She knew that Mornay loved her niece, and she knew Ariana loved him. Why not just pray for a happy conclusion? It had been quite nice to pray and now she had a good reason to do so again. Mrs. Bentley bowed her head, and, moving her lips silently, prayed that Ariana would come to her senses; that the marriage of the year would take place as speedily as could be arranged; and that Mr. Mornay would not lose patience or change his mind.
“There, and amen.” She gave a firm nod of her head and moved on to other things.
Just as she rose from the settee, an urgent knocking came at the door of the chamber, and Ariana burst inside. She was lit up with excitement, and breathing quickly from having run up the stairs to fetch her aunt.
“Molly has been caught! Indeed, she took my letter to the Worthingtons’ house, no small distance from here! They must be rewarding her amply! Haines has her downstairs and is waiting for you.”
Mrs. Bentley jumped up, dropping the prayer book in her haste.
“Oh, Aunt! Your prayer book! How wonderful! I am delighted for you!”
“Oh, hush, stuff, and nonsense. Nothing to get in vapours over.”
Ariana smiled. “Very well, I’ll say no more.” She leaned over and gave her aunt a kiss on the cheek, adding, “but I am delighted!”
Aunt Bentley was getting easier to approach, even to kiss affectionately, though she responded in a gruff voice. “Well, you did not come up here to kiss your aunt, I daresay. Let us go down and get to the bottom of this matter.”
“They ’ave ’er in the kitchen, mum,” said a footman, when they reached the stairs.
“Tell Haines to bring her to the parlour,” she ordered, and to Ariana, “Is Mr. Mornay still here?”
“He went to fetch an officer of the King’s Bench.”
“Excellent! He has the consequence for that.”
The women moved hurriedly to the parlour, and Mrs. Bentley immediately resumed pacing, as she had done the day before. She stopped and looked gravely at her niece.
“I will see Cecelia brought to the King’s Bench or the Court of Audience. She must live to regret this contemptuous trespassing! Why, ’tis theft. To steal your letters! She deserves gaol for this.”
For the first time it occurred to Ariana that her relation would assuredly seek to prosecute the interceptors to the fullest extent of the law. While it had been Ariana’s property taken, the theft had occurred in her aunt’s house. She was not sure who would have the greater claim to prosecute—or, conversely, not to. She hoped fervently to have some voice in the matter.
A sound at the door signaled the arrival of Haines and the maid, Molly. The little abigail who appeared, wearing chambermaid’s attire, head down, shuffling her feet, looked anything but criminal. She could not have been above thirteen, and was tiny, and peeked up only once to reveal a pair of large, frightened eyes.
Haines bowed politely, and then, in a stern tone, addressed the little maid.
“Come, come, make a clean plate of it and tell your mistress everything!”
When she only continued to hang her head in silence, Mrs. Bentley could not restrain herself, though she attempted to tone down her displeasure.
“Come, child, take a seat, here.”
Molly looked up tentatively, searching the faces of her prosecutors. She saw compassion on Ariana’s face and automatically stepped toward her. Ariana showed her where to sit.
Sitting across from her, she looked even more small and helpless.
Ariana hurriedly spoke first to prevent her aunt from doing so. “You were hired to take my letters, weren’t you, my dear?”
The little maid would not look up, but nodded.
“Was there anything else you were to do? Eavesdrop, perhaps?”
Again the slight nod of the head. Then, Ariana saw a tear fall from the little girl’s face and her heart melted. Such a little wisp of a thing! She pulled out one of her fine handkerchiefs and handed it to the servant, who took it, looked at it in wonder, and offered it back directly.
“Oh, please use it.”
Her aunt looked on impatiently.
“Do you know why your mistress wanted Miss Forsythe’s correspondence?”
The girl wiped her face, but shook her head in the negative.
“We are wasting our time,” Mrs. Bentley concluded. “To find out anything further we must speak to Cecelia herself.”
The door was heard to open downstairs, and there was a shuffle of feet in the hall. Mrs. Worthington’s loud voice rang out.
“I daresay there is some misunderstanding! I demand to see Mrs. Bentley at once! And you, sir, release my child this moment!”
Ariana and Mrs. Bentley looked at each other in surprise as they rushed from the parlour. Was Sophia, then, a part of the conspiracy? Mrs. Bentley motioned for her niece not to appear hurried, and they proceeded to calmly descend the staircase. Mr. Mornay had just been on his way up, but he stopped when he saw them, standing aside so the lady of the house could pass. He took Ariana’s hand and tucked it neatly upon his arm. Ariana was all eyes, and after greeting him with a smile, they turned and beheld the scene below.
Cecelia Worthington was glowering at the officer from the King’s Bench.
“I beg to remind you, sir, that my daughter has not been formally charged with a crime. Release her, I say!” And there, with her head bowed lower than the little chambermaid’s had been, was Sophia Worthington, her arms firmly within the grasp of a large officer. She wore a bonnet which hid her face, but it was obvious she had been the one who opened the letter, not her mama, for her gown was splattered tellingly with dark ink.
“Mrs. Bentley,” the officer said, in a crisp, authoritative voice. “We found this young woman in possession of a letter that belongs, I am told, to a member of this household.”
“Yes! It belongs to my niece.”
He rocked on his heels, evidently in his element. “And would that niece be so kind as to positively identify the letter, so we may prosecute the offender?”
“But of course!” breathed Mrs. Bentley. She motioned imper
iously for Ariana to come and do so. Ariana reacted by grasping the arm of her betrothed more tightly.
Mr. Mornay looked questioningly at his beloved, saw the look on her face, and found himself stifling a grin. What a girl he had found!
He patted her hand reassuringly, and slowly she descended the steps and went toward the unfortunate prisoner and her guard. Mrs. Worthington’s face was frozen in an attitude of dread. The officer dropped his prisoner’s arms, took a large rag from a pocket of his overcoat, and, unfolding it carefully, produced the ink-stained papers. Mrs. Worthington began to swoon.
There was Ariana’s handwriting, splotched with ink but clearly legible. Ariana saw it and knew what she had to do. Her heart felt heavy; her limbs were stiff. Slowly, she looked up at the King’s Bench officer and pronounced her verdict.
“I believe there’s been a mistake, sir. I wanted Sophia to have this!”
Her aunt gasped. The officer looked in perplexity to Mr. Mornay, who smiled wryly and shrugged. Sophia’s head shot up and she stared, open-mouthed, at Ariana, but with a glimmer of hope upon her ink-splattered features. Mrs. Worthington was being supported by two of Mrs. Bentley’s footmen, but, upon hearing Ariana’s words, she blinked in surprise and was suddenly much recovered.
She sprang to life, in fact, and was instantly by her daughter, standing between her and the dreaded officer.
“You see, sir! My daughter is innocent!”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” interjected Mrs. Bentley, dryly. She was wearing a deep frown, but she saw Mornay’s reaction and thought it best to follow suit. If he was willing to have been sent on a fool’s errand, to humour her niece, how could she object? She shook her head reproachfully at her incomprehensible charge, however, and waited to see what else might happen.
Once again the officer looked to Mornay, who had joined them in the hall.
“You must do as she says,” he charged, still eyeing his future bride with appreciation.
The officer obediently looked to Ariana. “Are you certain, ma’am? I was given to believe I had a thief here.”
“I am certain, sir, that if there has been any theft, it will not be repeated.” She looked from him to Sophia, who vigorously nodded her assent.
“Very well. It is good day, then, to you.” With a quick bow to the company, he turned and left. When the door had shut behind him, Sophia sobbed with relief, looked at Ariana, and held out her arms, moving toward her for an embrace. Ariana would have accepted it, but Mrs. Bentley, seeing the inky mess on the perpetrator and the expensive gown on her niece stepped instantly between them.
“Not another step!”
Sophia halted as if stung, and froze with apprehension.
“My niece has decided to be generous. But I was certainly no party to that.” She glared equally at the daughter and the mama. “Tell us the reason you planted a spy beneath my roof, and why you wanted my gel’s personal correspondence.”
In answer, Sophia covered her face with her hands and sobbed. Mrs. Worthington turned on her. “Come, come, Sophia, out with it! I am as shocked and displeased as Mrs. Bentley, and we must know what was behind this monstrous behaviour!”
“You didn’t know?” Mrs. Bentley asked, doubtfully.
“Of course not! Sophia Worthington! Do not keep Mrs. Bentley and Miss Forsythe waiting!” Her mother rounded on her and boxed her ear. Her protective feelings for her child had vanished with the officer. Now that the danger of prison was past, the humiliation of the episode was sinking in on her. She glanced uncomfortably at Ariana but could not even bring herself to peek at Mornay. Of all people, why, oh why, did the Paragon have to be involved? Their disgrace was utter and complete!
“Well?” She took her reticule and lashed the girl with it. Sophia sobbed louder, and then wailed, pitifully. “I just wanted to kno-o-o-o-ow…about her! I just wanted to know!”
Her mother looked dismayed. “This is nonsense! What did you want to know?”
Sophia peeked at her mama. “You have always said I am quite the little spy; and have I not kept you informed? Where they went together? Carlton House, and Vauxhall? And so on?”
Ariana blushed, recalling that she had indeed given a true account of her activities in her letters. To think they had all been read by Sophia!
Mrs. Worthington was beside herself. She raised her reticule again and began lashing her daughter mercilessly. Sophia raised her hands to ward off the attack and resumed wailing, more pitifully than before. Haines had the sense to open the door behind the ladies, and they left the house that way; with Mrs. Worthington scolding and pummeling her daughter, and Sophia blubbering like a baby.
The atmosphere felt instantly lighter. Ariana went to Mornay, who opened his arms to her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, into his chest.
“What for?”
She lifted her head and looked up in surprise. “For all your trouble, and time, getting the officer, and the Worthingtons.”
He gave a little smile and reached inside a pocket of his waistcoat, pulling out a packet of letters, carefully tied with a ribbon. “I also got these.”
“My letters! Oh!” She gave him an impulsive kiss. “Look, not only mine, but those from my parents! Why on earth did she want them?”
“So you wouldn’t know yours hadn’t been received.”
Mrs. Bentley came over and saw the letters. “But to have wasted so much of Mr. Mornay’s time, and the officer’s!”
“Not at all,” he said. “The man from the Bench was delighted to go with me.”
Mrs. Bentley shook her head knowingly. “Hm, and how much did he require from you?”
Ariana’s brows furrowed in concern.
“It’s of no account. He was compensated for his trouble, however, if that concerns you.”
“Oh, Phillip! I am sorry. If I’d known—”
“You would have done exactly the same thing,” he finished for her, grinning. She smiled weakly, realizing he was right. One sight of the defeated and humiliated Sophia had been sufficient to make Ariana feel she had been more than compensated for the harm done her. The young woman would be housebound for weeks no doubt. Surely that was punishment enough.
She suddenly remembered Molly. “Will you keep the little housemaid, Aunt? What will we do with her?”
“Keep her?” The words exploded from her lips. “Certainly not! Keep a traitor? Pay wages to a thief? Never.”
Ariana’s face fell.
“Haines, please summon Mrs. Ruskin; we must have that wicked gel removed from the household at once.”
As he left, Ariana turned and rushed back up the stairs.
Molly had apparently not moved from her spot on the sofa. She had, in fact, stolen out to the stairs to listen to the proceedings below. Sight of the officer had sent her into such a fright, however, she would have fled the house, only it was impossible, for a tall gentleman was upon the stairs, and others were blocking the exit. Having no alternative, she returned to her former place, and so was sitting, sniffling and trembling, when Ariana found her.
“My dear,” Ariana said kindly, after sitting across from her. “Don’t be afraid. Will you go back to the Worthingtons?”
She shook her head, and found her voice. “No, mum. I don’ think they’d ’ave me, mum.”
“Mrs. Bentley will not keep you. Do you have a place to go? A home?”
The little abigail frowned. Mournfully, she shook her head.
Mr. Mornay had entered the room and was standing back, watching with that bemused expression. Ariana looked over at him.
“Do you know what I would like to do with her?”
He grinned, but shook his head. “What would you like to do with her?”
She cocked her head to one side, studying him thoughtfully. “Do you indeed want to know?”
“I do indeed want to know.”
Her eyes brightened. “Splendid! I want you to take her.”
His smile vanished. If it had been anyone other than her
making such a request, he would have burst forth into a few round epithets, but it wasn’t anyone else; it was the woman he adored. He merely scowled, therefore, and replied, “She’ll be put in the kitchen; and only until she can find another situation; only until then.”
He did, at least, get a warm embrace and yet another kiss of gratitude. It almost made it worthwhile.
The next day, Mr. O’Brien made a call at Hanover Square. Ariana was in the parlour alone, a refreshing change for him, and he came toward her hopefully. She smiled a greeting, to which he reached for her hand to kiss it. Embarrassed by this gesture, she quickly reclaimed her hand and motioned for him to take a seat.
“I stayed away as long as I could,” he said, when they were seated across from one another with a polished mahogany table between them. His sandy hair was neatly combed back, his side-whiskers and moustache trimmed according to fashion. He wore light-coloured pantaloons and jockey boots, a high collar and voluminous cravat. Mr. O’Brien did not have the air of Mr. Mornay or the fine quality of clothing, but he dressed neatly and reasonably.
He leaned forward in his seat, his elbows on his knees.
“I decided I had to hear from your own lips, my dearest Miss Forsythe, that the reports are true. Can it really be that you, so pious as you are, will wed Mr. Mornay?”
Ariana folded her hands upon her lap, thinking how to answer. There was some question in her mind; yet they were legitimately engaged.
“It does appear to be true.”
He had to question this cryptic response, eyeing her curiously.
“Is it settled? Are you actually betrothed, or can it be I may still hope?”
“It is bound to be finalized shortly; we are betrothed, you see, only we have not yet set a date for the ceremony.”
Mr. O’Brien took the news well; he nodded, and then met her eyes.
“Are you in love with him, then?”
“I am afraid that yes, I am.” A smile spread across her face.
“Perhaps you should be afraid.” His voice was gentle, and all the more compelling for that. If not, she might have been startled; she might have felt warned for what was coming next.
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